shewho: (bitter gothic tear)
1. Poland in January. During return trip someone jumps in front of the Stansted Express somewhere in way outside Edmonton and train is held for approximately 4hrs whilst we await coaches. Very. Late. Night.

2. Rome, also in January. En route to Stansted we discover no trains are actually running and there's no idea when they will be. Argh.

3. ATP in May. I oversleep not only through the bus I want to catch but several afterwards. Still make train by skin of my teeth. Stink.

4. Secret Garden Party in July. My companions break down on the way there, meaning lifts to and from with parentals. Which means leaving early on the Sunday and missing lovely St Etienne.

5. Edinburgh, yesterday. Rain of almost biblical proportions the previous day means half of Scotland is flooded. Having been through Waverley station twice you'd have thought I may have noticed all the cancelled trains heading south. Oblivious. Arrive for actual train. Realise there aren't any. Realise have just missed the last useful connection that would have taken us to the less waterlogged West coast. Sulk a bit. Blame Patrick Monahan. The 'I'm only saying it's possible, certainly not definite' train a couple of hours later arrives. Tube ninja skills get me a sneaky seat. Train moves. Hurrah! Train gets later and later due to water and traffic. Am finally in bed by about 3am.

Though looking on the bright side, I *did* wedge on the train. I *did* get home almost on the day I planned. This can only be good luck brought to me by touching the LUCKY STAR on Chat Magazine's psychic page. I mean, look at the evidence! Louise, (I think) from somewhere, touched the star last week and got a promotion in the lap dancing bar. Go girl!




This entry to demonstrate I'm back from hols and not still stranded in Scotland. If I've missed anything vital please let me know here! I cannot read the entire internets, you know....
shewho: (bitter gothic tear)
1. Poland in January. During return trip someone jumps in front of the Stansted Express somewhere in way outside Edmonton and train is held for approximately 4hrs whilst we await coaches. Very. Late. Night.

2. Rome, also in January. En route to Stansted we discover no trains are actually running and there's no idea when they will be. Argh.

3. ATP in May. I oversleep not only through the bus I want to catch but several afterwards. Still make train by skin of my teeth. Stink.

4. Secret Garden Party in July. My companions break down on the way there, meaning lifts to and from with parentals. Which means leaving early on the Sunday and missing lovely St Etienne.

5. Edinburgh, yesterday. Rain of almost biblical proportions the previous day means half of Scotland is flooded. Having been through Waverley station twice you'd have thought I may have noticed all the cancelled trains heading south. Oblivious. Arrive for actual train. Realise there aren't any. Realise have just missed the last useful connection that would have taken us to the less waterlogged West coast. Sulk a bit. Blame Patrick Monahan. The 'I'm only saying it's possible, certainly not definite' train a couple of hours later arrives. Tube ninja skills get me a sneaky seat. Train moves. Hurrah! Train gets later and later due to water and traffic. Am finally in bed by about 3am.

Though looking on the bright side, I *did* wedge on the train. I *did* get home almost on the day I planned. This can only be good luck brought to me by touching the LUCKY STAR on Chat Magazine's psychic page. I mean, look at the evidence! Louise, (I think) from somewhere, touched the star last week and got a promotion in the lap dancing bar. Go girl!




This entry to demonstrate I'm back from hols and not still stranded in Scotland. If I've missed anything vital please let me know here! I cannot read the entire internets, you know....
shewho: (melting tube)
it's funny the kind of things that put you in a good mood for the day.

i'm not talking about the almost painful to read mccartney / mills verdict.

i'm certainly not talking about my colleague's assertion he just learnt how to say 'good morning' in japanese on the toilet.

but i did just merrily stroll into work, singing crowded house's 'mean to me' out loud with a grin on my face.

why?

the Best Bus Driver Ever.

seriously. oftentimes in the morning it's tricky getting the bus to stamford hill. a million and two schoolchildren to navigate. this bus was full. but the driver, in the cheeriest way got everyone to 'move down and work together' and even though we were packed like sardines by then stopped again at the next stop, and got people to squeeze on the back, all the time keeping up this cheery monologue of joy and togetherness, which had us all *talking* to each other and smiling. and wished everybody a wonderful day as we piled off at stamford hill. piled off with a spring in our steps and a grin on our faces.

reader, i tell you, i had a tear of happiness in my eye. it's the little things.

*and* it's a bank holiday tomorrow. today may be made of greatness.

tomorrow you should totally come to soul mole at canal 125 for some serious dancing to some seriously excellent music.
shewho: (melting tube)
it's funny the kind of things that put you in a good mood for the day.

i'm not talking about the almost painful to read mccartney / mills verdict.

i'm certainly not talking about my colleague's assertion he just learnt how to say 'good morning' in japanese on the toilet.

but i did just merrily stroll into work, singing crowded house's 'mean to me' out loud with a grin on my face.

why?

the Best Bus Driver Ever.

seriously. oftentimes in the morning it's tricky getting the bus to stamford hill. a million and two schoolchildren to navigate. this bus was full. but the driver, in the cheeriest way got everyone to 'move down and work together' and even though we were packed like sardines by then stopped again at the next stop, and got people to squeeze on the back, all the time keeping up this cheery monologue of joy and togetherness, which had us all *talking* to each other and smiling. and wished everybody a wonderful day as we piled off at stamford hill. piled off with a spring in our steps and a grin on our faces.

reader, i tell you, i had a tear of happiness in my eye. it's the little things.

*and* it's a bank holiday tomorrow. today may be made of greatness.

tomorrow you should totally come to soul mole at canal 125 for some serious dancing to some seriously excellent music.
shewho: (cheese!)
I have failed miserably to do a proper update in a while. You might hear a lot from me today dear internets, sorry!

Last week then, the weekend started on a Wednesday. Horrifically early in fact, meeting my travelling companions ([livejournal.com profile] perfectlyvague and [livejournal.com profile] fugitvemotel at Kings Cross, earlier than I'd usually be at work. From there a painless journey via Luton and Easyjet to PARIS.

(I found myself drinking a stiff gin and tonic at half ten in the morning. Well, a combination of 'Anansi Says', a scary fact about flying, and the fact the gin was in a bag drove me to it!)

I had never been to Paris before. I had never daytripped abroad before. This was all incredibly exciting! But not as exciting as all the signs to Orly, prompting stupid yarly comments and hysteria. Heh.

So, the David Lynch exhibition then. The main reason we went. I don't think there's any way a text description of it could do it justice, to be honest. (Certainly not from me.) It was amazing. In an unsettling and uncomfortable, yet wonderful way. The first room was a little disturbing, huge grey canvases, lots of houses, simple yet dark paintings that appeared to have stories, and lettering snaking around them telling you. (Um, the letter style remind me a lot of the cover of Nearly God. Actually, there was a very similar vibe. Ugh. Bad word.) In the background was that typical Lynch music. You know what I mean. Rumbling away, and almost making me feel sick. Around the edges of the room were drawings / sketches / doodles on anything and everything. The man's brain doesn't stop working, does it?

Anyway. Then on into the second room. The music continues eerily in the background. Huge canvases again. ARGH! Scary and bad and wrong! Too many women with holes in and pen1s type protrusions. Scary red man! Lots and lots of 'Bobs'. Lynch likes calling people in his art 'Bob'. They aren't just paintings either, he'll whack on some hair and fabric and anything he finds if he thinks they need it. Somewhat amazing, but I'm surprised I haven't had any nightmares.

Downstairs there is the ace Snowman series of photographs, his Disfigured (?) Nudes (again freaking me out), lots of photography, a mini cinema showing short films (the monsterboy wanting milk makes me Very Happy) and my favourite bit of the whole exhibition. This is a small painting of a room on the wall, and then a real life copy of the painting you can walk into. Smaller at the back to get the same perspective. Simple things for my simple mind, but I walked through the doors at the back and round again several times, hoping that one time I'd become a dwarf and start talking backwards. It almost felt it could have happened.

So yes, that alone was worth the trip.

We then spent a lovely, relaxing day, no stress, no problems, just wandering around Paris, Ms H leading the way with an infallible sense of direction. Through the gorgeous Luxembourg Gardens looking at the art. Through busy shopping streets (and seeing the most darling polkadot dress on the way) to Pont Neuf and the Seine..... to the Louvre (only on the outside!) to be amazed at the sheer scale of the place.... Up to the Sacre Couer, the hard way via the stairs as the funicular was broken.... looking over the whole of Paris from on high...through the random garment district then towards Gare du Nord via picking up some (very) tasty cheese at a fromagerie...... a tasty croque madame and pastis for tea (well, when in Rome Paris &c...!) and then back on the RER to Charles de Gaulle and the flight back.

I was tucked up in bed before half midnight, and slept well.

***

Paris is lovely, isn't it? I was expecting attitude and snootiness and overly busy streets. But got relaxing and pretty and charming and helpful and and and and...... I felt very comfortable there. In fact, I'd like to go back and do it properly. Despite my RUBBISH French, I'd even feel confident enough to do it on my own. I might do this. Not this year. But soon and for the rest of my life....

***

Some random photos from my phone as proof I actually went! )
shewho: (cheese!)
I have failed miserably to do a proper update in a while. You might hear a lot from me today dear internets, sorry!

Last week then, the weekend started on a Wednesday. Horrifically early in fact, meeting my travelling companions ([livejournal.com profile] perfectlyvague and [livejournal.com profile] fugitvemotel at Kings Cross, earlier than I'd usually be at work. From there a painless journey via Luton and Easyjet to PARIS.

(I found myself drinking a stiff gin and tonic at half ten in the morning. Well, a combination of 'Anansi Says', a scary fact about flying, and the fact the gin was in a bag drove me to it!)

I had never been to Paris before. I had never daytripped abroad before. This was all incredibly exciting! But not as exciting as all the signs to Orly, prompting stupid yarly comments and hysteria. Heh.

So, the David Lynch exhibition then. The main reason we went. I don't think there's any way a text description of it could do it justice, to be honest. (Certainly not from me.) It was amazing. In an unsettling and uncomfortable, yet wonderful way. The first room was a little disturbing, huge grey canvases, lots of houses, simple yet dark paintings that appeared to have stories, and lettering snaking around them telling you. (Um, the letter style remind me a lot of the cover of Nearly God. Actually, there was a very similar vibe. Ugh. Bad word.) In the background was that typical Lynch music. You know what I mean. Rumbling away, and almost making me feel sick. Around the edges of the room were drawings / sketches / doodles on anything and everything. The man's brain doesn't stop working, does it?

Anyway. Then on into the second room. The music continues eerily in the background. Huge canvases again. ARGH! Scary and bad and wrong! Too many women with holes in and pen1s type protrusions. Scary red man! Lots and lots of 'Bobs'. Lynch likes calling people in his art 'Bob'. They aren't just paintings either, he'll whack on some hair and fabric and anything he finds if he thinks they need it. Somewhat amazing, but I'm surprised I haven't had any nightmares.

Downstairs there is the ace Snowman series of photographs, his Disfigured (?) Nudes (again freaking me out), lots of photography, a mini cinema showing short films (the monsterboy wanting milk makes me Very Happy) and my favourite bit of the whole exhibition. This is a small painting of a room on the wall, and then a real life copy of the painting you can walk into. Smaller at the back to get the same perspective. Simple things for my simple mind, but I walked through the doors at the back and round again several times, hoping that one time I'd become a dwarf and start talking backwards. It almost felt it could have happened.

So yes, that alone was worth the trip.

We then spent a lovely, relaxing day, no stress, no problems, just wandering around Paris, Ms H leading the way with an infallible sense of direction. Through the gorgeous Luxembourg Gardens looking at the art. Through busy shopping streets (and seeing the most darling polkadot dress on the way) to Pont Neuf and the Seine..... to the Louvre (only on the outside!) to be amazed at the sheer scale of the place.... Up to the Sacre Couer, the hard way via the stairs as the funicular was broken.... looking over the whole of Paris from on high...through the random garment district then towards Gare du Nord via picking up some (very) tasty cheese at a fromagerie...... a tasty croque madame and pastis for tea (well, when in Rome Paris &c...!) and then back on the RER to Charles de Gaulle and the flight back.

I was tucked up in bed before half midnight, and slept well.

***

Paris is lovely, isn't it? I was expecting attitude and snootiness and overly busy streets. But got relaxing and pretty and charming and helpful and and and and...... I felt very comfortable there. In fact, I'd like to go back and do it properly. Despite my RUBBISH French, I'd even feel confident enough to do it on my own. I might do this. Not this year. But soon and for the rest of my life....

***

Some random photos from my phone as proof I actually went! )
shewho: (bad idea bears)
Yesbut The Klaxons version of It’s Not Over Yet is rather good, isn’t it?

In other good music news, forget Herman Dune (sorry [livejournal.com profile] p_dan_tic), I’m becoming more and more enamoured of Li-Lund. Songs about Mick Jagger’s lips and sad panda faces are winning me round. Yes, yes, I know that all sounds terribly fey and indie. I think I must be running a temperature. Oh god, I think I like Arcade Fire as well. That soldier-boy-whatever song sounds like The Boss!

***

I don’t feel spectacularly well today, which is rubbish, since I have my back appointment again later (so am wearing sensible granny tights of course. I may be happy to strip off at the pool these days, but if 3 clinicians are going to be wandering in and out of the room I am going to revert to prude, ta muchly…) and am going to Paris tomorrow. Sort yerself out, you stupid body of mine, thanks. Hmm, I wonder if I know where my current passport is…

***

My permanent daemon appears to have become a mouse again. Which just proves I was right am always right. Rocking!

***

Daniel Kitson question: did I buy tickets for his show at the Open Air Theatre myself, or does someone else have them? I cannae find an email. PANIC!

***

I am *hugely* into my overdraft this month. It is time to calm down. Jesus.

(NB woman, this means STOP even considering going to a Bestival Launch Party in Bournemouth THIS WEEKEND purely because of Kitty Daisy & Lewis and a desire to keep the summer festival spirit flying…)

***

Aw MAN! G Love & Special Sauce are playing Koko tonight too. NO FAIR!
shewho: (bad idea bears)
Yesbut The Klaxons version of It’s Not Over Yet is rather good, isn’t it?

In other good music news, forget Herman Dune (sorry [livejournal.com profile] p_dan_tic), I’m becoming more and more enamoured of Li-Lund. Songs about Mick Jagger’s lips and sad panda faces are winning me round. Yes, yes, I know that all sounds terribly fey and indie. I think I must be running a temperature. Oh god, I think I like Arcade Fire as well. That soldier-boy-whatever song sounds like The Boss!

***

I don’t feel spectacularly well today, which is rubbish, since I have my back appointment again later (so am wearing sensible granny tights of course. I may be happy to strip off at the pool these days, but if 3 clinicians are going to be wandering in and out of the room I am going to revert to prude, ta muchly…) and am going to Paris tomorrow. Sort yerself out, you stupid body of mine, thanks. Hmm, I wonder if I know where my current passport is…

***

My permanent daemon appears to have become a mouse again. Which just proves I was right am always right. Rocking!

***

Daniel Kitson question: did I buy tickets for his show at the Open Air Theatre myself, or does someone else have them? I cannae find an email. PANIC!

***

I am *hugely* into my overdraft this month. It is time to calm down. Jesus.

(NB woman, this means STOP even considering going to a Bestival Launch Party in Bournemouth THIS WEEKEND purely because of Kitty Daisy & Lewis and a desire to keep the summer festival spirit flying…)

***

Aw MAN! G Love & Special Sauce are playing Koko tonight too. NO FAIR!
shewho: (melting tube)
I considered taking a sickie today. I considered the possibility long and hard. I realised I had things to do, and decided against it.

Which was quite foolish, as it happens.

Not only were there NO TRAINS from Walthamstow Central, but there were no tubes either. Not starting until Hackney / Kings Cross respectively.

Little bit of a problem.

So, instead of a handy short train and a bus to work I did this:

- walk to station
- see crowds of people going the other way, find the boy and walk away from the station
- hideously overcrowded bus to Leytonstone
- get on central line at Leytonstone
- get off central line at Leytonstone, the train is defective
- get on central line at Leytonstone *again*, 2 full trains of people crammed on one train
- get out at Stratford
- get on Jubilee line (this bit relatively painless)
- get out at Southwark
- get to work about the same time as if I had made the train that didn't exist.

Hmmmm........
shewho: (melting tube)
I considered taking a sickie today. I considered the possibility long and hard. I realised I had things to do, and decided against it.

Which was quite foolish, as it happens.

Not only were there NO TRAINS from Walthamstow Central, but there were no tubes either. Not starting until Hackney / Kings Cross respectively.

Little bit of a problem.

So, instead of a handy short train and a bus to work I did this:

- walk to station
- see crowds of people going the other way, find the boy and walk away from the station
- hideously overcrowded bus to Leytonstone
- get on central line at Leytonstone
- get off central line at Leytonstone, the train is defective
- get on central line at Leytonstone *again*, 2 full trains of people crammed on one train
- get out at Stratford
- get on Jubilee line (this bit relatively painless)
- get out at Southwark
- get to work about the same time as if I had made the train that didn't exist.

Hmmmm........
shewho: (honeybee)
but work is a blinking messy nightmare as today we *are* actually hefting furniture and moving offices. chaos, of course. i can't even re-set my desk up as i fear it is to be moved again as we don't quite fit in

life continues apace, with my aim of no more than one night in a week being met with gin and valour.

things are Very Very Busy in general (we are booking up to NOVEMBER people!), and we are finding it hard to find a time to get to Finland, and I

really really really really

want to go to Finland.

*sigh*

Dirty.

Dusty.

Sneezy.

So. Much. More. To. Do.


(if you need me urgently for any reason you should probably use my mobile. my contact details are in my first ever entry. why you'd need me urgently i don't know, but meh.)
shewho: (honeybee)
but work is a blinking messy nightmare as today we *are* actually hefting furniture and moving offices. chaos, of course. i can't even re-set my desk up as i fear it is to be moved again as we don't quite fit in

life continues apace, with my aim of no more than one night in a week being met with gin and valour.

things are Very Very Busy in general (we are booking up to NOVEMBER people!), and we are finding it hard to find a time to get to Finland, and I

really really really really

want to go to Finland.

*sigh*

Dirty.

Dusty.

Sneezy.

So. Much. More. To. Do.


(if you need me urgently for any reason you should probably use my mobile. my contact details are in my first ever entry. why you'd need me urgently i don't know, but meh.)
shewho: (pirate boots!)
On the way through the bag check / metal scanners at Stansted at the weekend, my bag was suspicious.

Uh oh!

All I had in there was a Christmas present for my mother, a sequinned bag all wrapped up. I explained this to the lady, she didn't need to unwrap it.

*Phew*

The only other thing was 3 tins of Golden Syrup. Argh! Is it illegal to export Golden Syrup?

No, no, that is alright.

But what is this she's found that shouldn't be in there?

*cue fit of giggles*

It is my stupid magnetic extending pointy pen that has somehow attached itself to my tins to look like a suspicious bomb.

(after the obligatory drug wipe (all clean!), we walked on through)

THIS IS HOW MUCH I LOVE MAGNETS

Your turn!

[Poll #658868]

(PS - 10 obv = lots and lots, and 1 = not really)

([livejournal.com profile] col_d, this icon is appropriate cos these boots also set of metal detectors, but only in France!)
shewho: (pirate boots!)
On the way through the bag check / metal scanners at Stansted at the weekend, my bag was suspicious.

Uh oh!

All I had in there was a Christmas present for my mother, a sequinned bag all wrapped up. I explained this to the lady, she didn't need to unwrap it.

*Phew*

The only other thing was 3 tins of Golden Syrup. Argh! Is it illegal to export Golden Syrup?

No, no, that is alright.

But what is this she's found that shouldn't be in there?

*cue fit of giggles*

It is my stupid magnetic extending pointy pen that has somehow attached itself to my tins to look like a suspicious bomb.

(after the obligatory drug wipe (all clean!), we walked on through)

THIS IS HOW MUCH I LOVE MAGNETS

Your turn!

[Poll #658868]

(PS - 10 obv = lots and lots, and 1 = not really)

([livejournal.com profile] col_d, this icon is appropriate cos these boots also set of metal detectors, but only in France!)

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